


Chrysalis

by isychiae



Category: Batman - All Media Types, Young Justice (Cartoon)
Genre: Abuse, Abusive Relationships, Angst, Anxiety, Dick Grayson Needs a Hug, Dick Grayson is Nightwing, Dick is a bit of A Mess, Domestic Violence, F/M, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Implied/Referenced Domestic Violence, Implied/Referenced Self Harm, Oneshot, Promiscuity, Self Harm, Self-Esteem Issues, Self-Hatred, Unrequited Love, all aboard the pre season 3 angst train!, as a coping mechanism, now for all the non-tw tags, this is a sad one folks, uhhhh so now all the scary tags are out of the way, vaguely pretentious writing style
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-16
Updated: 2018-10-16
Packaged: 2019-08-03 02:55:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,013
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16317782
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/isychiae/pseuds/isychiae
Summary: Pain is a friend that Dick knows intimately. Its familiar embrace shrouds him in the aftermath of each battle, offering false contentment and empty affirmations. It has a certain allure, and he is helpless to its fancies. It has painted a tapestry of violence across his skin, leaving no inch unmarked, cocooning him in a chrysalis of scar tissue.





	Chrysalis

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Don't Turn On the Lights](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12197595) by [haunt_the_stars](https://archiveofourown.org/users/haunt_the_stars/pseuds/haunt_the_stars). 



> So I wrote this after binge-watching the entirety of Young Justice over three days. . .  
> Also imma put a trigger warning here for abusive/toxic relationships and mentions of self harm. There's nothing graphic, but better safe than sorry! Also, please tell me if I've forgotten to tag anything.  
> Thanks and enjoy!

Pain is a friend that Dick knows intimately. Its familiar embrace shrouds him in the aftermath of each battle, offering false contentment and empty affirmations. It has a certain allure, and he is helpless to its fancies. It has painted a tapestry of violence across his skin, leaving no inch unmarked, cocooning him in a chrysalis of scar tissue.

But there is no true comfort to be had. Previously, Dick had attempted to quiet his anxieties through his own destruction but had found the point at which he becomes immune to pain’s cruel ministrations, no matter how much blood flowed. Thoughts of his own demise were romantic, enticing, but ultimately impractical – death is a luxury he does not yet deserve.

Instead, Dick turns to satiating a hollow lust for flesh. This misguided quest gives way to a repetitive cycle, leaving him sobbing into someone else’s bedsheets as the dawn light glistens on his cheeks. He is living in bursts of desperation, grounded by bouts of everyday life. Pain has all but disappeared, and Dick is lost without it.

But, there appears to be salvation, as she comes into his life. Nothing more, yet nothing less, than human. She arrives with bright lights that leave him squinting, an embrace that has him yearning for more, and a laugh that could crumble cities. There is no pain, as though there shouldn’t be in the first place: there is only her, and the crackling of a fire.

Dick Grayson never learnt to love: he believes it is not in his nature. Or perhaps it all disappeared long ago. But she is a natural and can do all the loving for the both of them. She whispers this to him in the dead of night, when Dick’s eyes are watering and he wonders if he was ever truly human. She knows about his (love) affair with Pain, and she promises she loves him regardless. In spite of it. She will protect him, she says, and give what he deserves.

This _is_ what he deserves. Dick is alone, for the moment: she has gone to clear her head. His skin is sore, his head aches, and there are (oh so many) bruises. Her hands are knives, her tongue sharp, stinging, knees like battering rams and eyes like burning jewels. the night is cruel, and hers are deadly. 

But at least she knew how to love.

Dick Grayson knows how to lie: it was a gift from the Devil himself. His body can explain itself away, and when Wally has Questions, and Dick has Answers, pre-packaged and tied with velvet bow. He is tiptoeing along the strings of his own deception, the dance accelerating as the threads begin to fray and snap. (She watches with her scissors and cuts his lies out from underneath him, so she can catch him in her arms).

His meetings with Pain resume in the sombre twilights before dawn, whilst she lies asleep, or presumed so. These meetings don’t end in tears, or happiness, as they did before: they are calculated, borne purely of convenience, and remain in cool uniformity. A force of habit, his own body collateral for his mind. And it works, for a while. 

Until she discovers his _filthy little secret_. She is silent, frozen and jealous, the fire in her eyes doused by icy fury. There was shouting, and bright lights, and movement, whilst she forced him to his knees. _If you want pain you can have it, she sneers_.

Dick doesn’t cry out. He’s not allowed to do that anymore.

After months, Dick comes to his senses. The haze of her love is humid and stifling, but it no longer quiets the fading patterns pummelled into his skin. It’s no longer enough. Perhaps it never was. There’s no longer a golden halo dancing around her head, just a crown of thorns that have him ensnared. He wakes at dawn and sees her sleeping quietly beside him. So peaceful, and quiet, curious beauty smeared across her resting features. Dick can feel her drawing him back into her poisoned embrace, comfortingly ruthless, and- 

He packs a duffel and posts his key through the letterbox with shaking hands.

It’s past midnight, yet Wally opens the door after the first ring of the doorbell. It takes all of Dick’s willpower not to collapse at his feet. He is hurried inside, and faintly Dick can here the rumble of a kettle. There’s a questioning look, gentle, and Dick turns away, shame welling in his throat like bile.

Dick Grayson is not a victim – he tries to explain this to Wally as they wait for the sun to rise. He should have been more careful, should have known, s _houldn’t have bothered you, I’m sorry, I’ll leave now_.

Wally’s already seen the bruises. He’s seen the handprint across Dick’s lithe torso. Seen the ‘cat scratches’ that are ‘hidden’ underneath a long-sleeved shirt. The black eye that never seems to heal. Because Dick Grayson is a victim, but _that doesn’t mean you’re weak, okay Dick? It means you’re strong_.

There’s something tender in Wally’s voice, a soft second embrace that corners Dick before he can fight back. He’s melting before he realises it, surrendering his sorrows to the quiet observation of 4am. It teases the morbid narrative from him in disjointed chunks, encouraged by soft touches and hesitant smiles.

Then, it is finished, and the dam bursts. Dick is eight years old again, sobbing in the corner. No, sobbing on Wally’s shoulder. He feels lost, shattered, _What am I going to tell Bruce, he’s going to be disappointed in me again_. Wally listens on, quietening his sobs and providing the true comfort Dick has been starved of.

Eventually they are left with two mugs of cold tea, the sunrise, and some semblance of a plan.

Dick Grayson falls silent, cocooned within his brother’s arms, grasping at weak strands of hope. In that moment, Pain is no longer a trusted friend; rather, a distant stranger. He sleeps, and the mysteries of happiness draw closer to his heart. 


End file.
